


civil affairs

by perpetualskies



Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: Do Not Repost to Other Sites, M/M, anachronistic meme usage, he also has a staring problem but honestly who wouldn’t, intertextuality baby, matt being a certified mess(TM) around harper but what else is new, now get ready for drinking pepsi with the same NCO at the bottom of an empty swimming pool, well here you have it, write fanfic guiltlessly they said, you’ve heard of getting tipsy with ur NCO in the back of a humvee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetualskies/pseuds/perpetualskies
Summary: Matt kept racking his brain for something to say, something casual and conversational, something that didn’t sound like he’d been slowly losing it ever since Kuwait.
Relationships: James Harper/Matt Ocre
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	civil affairs

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted some fic set during their time in Baghdad ~~and where Matt drinks Pepsi at night because he's just that hardcore~~. 
> 
> Comments are ❤︎!

Matt breathed in the cooling night air, taking in the blissfully deserted courtyard after the sun had dipped below the covert line of the horizon. The pool stretched empty before him—there had been concerns about the water quality and so a decision had been made to drain it, leaving something gaping and strangely melancholic in its wake. Matt liked it better that way, though, because it meant that the place was a lot less crowded, especially in the evenings; the months before it had always been brimming with soldiers, the new arrivals in particular barely able to believe their luck. Matt had never felt the allure; it just didn’t feel right to take a swim or stretch out on a lounge chair while smoke was still copiously rising from the city, with attack helicopters always crossing overhead to add some more. Now there were only tiles revealing a pretty inlaid flower pattern and slowly accumulating litter in the corners; Matt sat on the edge, letting his feet dangle for a moment, then eased himself down to the floor.

He had barely settled in, had barely cracked open a bottle of Pepsi he got from one of the communal fridges that were strategically placed in some of the hallways when he heard footsteps come up behind him. He sighed, distantly wondering how likely it would be for him to go unnoticed, for whoever it was to pass on by. He’d really hoped to be alone; there weren’t many quiet places to retreat to, not many opportunities to get some time just for yourself either, and Matt treasured these little moments of solitude whenever he managed to sneak them into his day, which was not nearly as often as he’d like. He could hear the person step right up to the edge then, sending a stray bottle cap flying somewhere into the dark belly of the pool. Matt let out another quiet sigh. He looked up and was surprised to see that that someone was Harper; he didn’t think the Sergeant would be one for stargazing in empty pools at what would technically be past curfew; not for the reasons Matt was here for anyway. Inspite of that, it didn’t look like he was in trouble; Harper’s posture was at ease and he, too, was holding an open bottle in one hand.

“Mind if I join you?” Harper asked, and Matt couldn’t _not_ smile at him, which in itself was starting to feel a little bit like a problem. Matt artfully ignored that thought in favour of taking a deep breath and quickly raking his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t really had any chance to work through his earlier conversation with Harper, then the subsequent phone call to his mother, let alone the fact that tomorrow they were getting re-deployed. Now here Harper was _again_ , and Matt had no idea how he was supposed to handle _that_ either, fully aware of his miserable track-record of nerves and general fluster wherever the Sergeant was concerned.

Inspite of that, he nodded his assent; he’d never make it sound convincing trying to pretend that he _didn’t_ want Harper around, least of all to himself. Matt trained his eyes on the barely visible outline of a mosque behind the tree line, the last tinges of twilight diffusing across the sky, and tried to look at least approximately casual and relaxed.

“So this is one of your spots, huh?” Harper asked after sliding down the wall and getting comfortable beside him. He took a swig from his bottle, resting his elbows on his knees, taking a look around.

Matt felt caught out; he didn’t think anybody would take much notice of his absences, or pay much attention to him in the first place. He’d always treated curfew as a concept somewhat open to interpretation; had stayed out too late one night without quite meaning to and realised that nobody had really paid him any mind. Continued doing it whenever he thought that he could afford to; came to depend on it, in a certain way. Turns out he wasn’t quite as inconspicuous about it as he’d thought.

“Relax,” Harper assured him when Matt failed to come up with an answer, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I didn’t come out here to chew you out.”

Matt gave a nervous little laugh, taking another swig from his bottle. He didn’t think he could get through this tour without— _this_ , the vague semblance of privacy it provided, this little time away from everything and everybody else. The Sergeant seemed to understand, or at the very least feel no need to make Matt explain it to him, and Matt felt grateful for it and relieved.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment; that, too, was something Matt had come to appreciate about Harper—the many times just his mere presence seemed to be enough. The way it grounded him, the way it extended like a lifeline—he seemed so effortlessly in control, so confident, so level-headed—it was so far from anything Matt felt out here, how was he _not_ supposed to respond to it, to tether himself to it, to grapple for it, helpless and stumbling in the field.

Matt kept racking his brain for something to say, something casual and conversational, something that didn’t sound like he’d been slowly losing it ever since Kuwait. Harper didn’t share much of himself and Matt just wanted— _something_ , a little tidbit, a small concession that extended beyond what everybody else already knew. Where did he grow up? Did he have any siblings? What kind of music did he like to listen to in the car? Who was he calling on the sat phone? What _exactly_ did he mean by _then I was wrong about you?_ And was Matt wrong about him too, the looks he sometimes gave him, the casual way he sometimes moved into his space?

Matt had had months to shake these and other, much more incriminating thoughts and yet here he was, nurturing this school boy crush of his any opportunity he got. Harper was so close that Matt could smell the army issue soap on him, could hear every deep inhale; he felt exceedingly unnerved, not just by Harper but by his own response to him, the way it spanned across his chest and tingled lightly in his palms and rooted him in desire; the way it made him reconsider every word for courage that he knew.

Matt heard the familiar _clink_ of a zippo lighter and turned his face to watch the end of Harper’s cigarette light up. It made him— _fuck_ , it made him want to say things that he knew he definitely shouldn’t, made something bold and reckless rise up in his chest; they were at the bottom of an empty pool at some fucking palace at the centre of the Green Zone—surely it wouldn’t add _much_ to the absurdity of it all if he were to reach out, just once, and maybe—

“Ocre,” Harper said, sounding amused, “you’re staring.”

Yeah, he kind of definitely was.

Matt cleared his throat and willed himself to look away, heat rising in his cheeks. He lifted the bottle to his lips and gulped down half of it in one decided go. More silence followed, although slightly less comfortable this time, at least on his end. Something lit up the sky in the direction of the river, and Matt’s mind wandered, from all the smoke he couldn’t see to his mother’s voice when he had told her, then back to Harper once again.

He’d already embarrassed himself, and yet he couldn’t keep from thinking—this was for _him_ , not any of the jokes or banter Harper shared with the others that Matt almost always felt left out of, not any of their crudeness he sometimes indulged that made Matt, more often than not, take flight, to places just like this. He came to _him_ , found him out here, waded into _his_ bubble, and now their knees were touching, rubbing together even, and Matt was probably, most definitely overthinking, unless unless unless unless.

“Ocre,” Harper said again, and then, “Matt,” softer. Matt turned his head, forced himself to, his heart beating out a heavy, thudding rhythm in his chest.

Harper’d turned to face him and he was smiling—a little amused still but also broad and genuine and fucking tugging at Matt in a way that made his mouth run dry and his heart rate spike up even more.

Harper took one last deep drag and stubbed out his cigarette beside him. “Let’s just get to Baqubah, yeah?” he said, and Matt wondered if he meant it as the promise that it sounded like to him.

He wanted to ask, _and then?_ but Harper, classic fucking Harper, pre-empted, reached out his hand and squeezed Matt’s knee, his thumb brushing across his knee cap one or twice. “Don’t think about it too much,” Harper added, and he suddenly seemed quite tired, but he was smiling still, even as he ran a hand across his face, scrunching it up.

Matt very much wanted to actually, physically _splutter_. He barely managed not to, getting out a, “I, uh, won’t,” that sounded a lot like _I love breathing oxygen_ , even to him. Considering the alternative would have been something like _I think about you every time I’m in the shower_ , he was quite proud of his achievement still.

He felt a little—like an idiot, sure, but also like something had tenuously extended in the space between them, had fallen into a hitherto unshared rhythm, taken a distinct and familiar shape. Harper looked younger too, Matt realised, for once not like he was carrying the entire invasion on his shoulders; Matt could imagine him so easily somewhere stateside, post active-duty, so blissfully civilian; picking out chewing toys for his dog, making French toast, tinkering with the insides of his car. Maybe—maybe it _was_ turning into a problem because Matt could just never really stop imagining Harper, could he. Maybe the problem was he didn’t really _want_ to stop.

“Don’t stay out too long,” Harper said, ruffling Matt’s hair as he got up. “We have an early start tomorrow.”

“Sir,” Matt replied, feeling like it was the only word left in the entire English language, or maybe in his brain, or both. Harper huffed out a quiet laugh, then set the bottle on the edge and hoisted himself back up. Matt tried and failed spectacularly to not look at his ass.

Matt let out a sigh listening to his retreating footsteps, leaned his head back against the tiles and closed his eyes. He was, quite suddenly, exhausted. At the same time, he wanted to stay up all night, just soaking in the quiet. If Matt was honest, Anthony’s plan to pay the Iraqis to work with the US Army sounded, well, _delusional_ , but if the Sergeant wanted him on board, trusted him enough to _watch his back_ —there was no way he’d let him down like that. _God_ , just a couple of months ago he would’ve done right about anything to get out of this war, and now he was volunteering his ass down to some unsecured village because it _mattered_ whether someone like Harper was wrong about you, and apparently also proved reason enough.

Matt didn’t stay out much longer, finished his drink, then snuck his way back to their room. Everyone else was already in their bunks, and Matt tiptoed through the darkness, grimacing as he accidentally stepped on something that sounded like an empty plastic bottle that somebody hadn’t cared to pick back up.

Harper’s bottom bunk was the closest to Matt’s own, and as he settled in, he let his gaze stray to the Sergeant’s silhouette, the elongated slope of his back, its rising and falling like that of a metronome wound up to ease him into sleep. Matt focussed on it, his thoughts and breathing slowing down, his body growing heavy. He had no idea how the living conditions would be in Baqubah but the fact that they had been told to take a good, long shower before they left didn’t bode particularly well. Matt also didn’t know if he’d get quite this lucky when it came to sleeping arrangements, and so he decided there was no harm in taking one last good look, to drink him in and—

“Matt.” Harper’s voice cut through the silence, making Matt almost shoot up in his bunk, even though it was dropped down to a whisper. “Quit fuckin’ staring.” He sounded half asleep but his voice was soft and still carried the note of fondness and amusement it had had earlier at the pool. By now, Matt’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light enough that he could make out that Harper was smiling; relief rushed through him, followed by a light giddiness, something that steeped him in a pleasant, tingling warmth. It felt like something delicate and intimate unfolded in the near darkness; Matt’s cheeks flared up but he, too, was smiling, pulling his sheets a little tighter around him. Thing was: Harper was looking too and Matt wondered distantly what about this night it was that made him come find him, what changed, what set itself in motion, what gently gave a little way.

Enzo, Chutz and Burton were right there in the room with them, and yet it felt like they were back at the pool, just darkness, a single point of contact, something that felt already like a promise kept. Harper had known it all this time, Matt suddenly realised, and never said a thing about it. He slid his healing hand under the pillow, both grateful and ashamed.

They stayed like this, just facing each other, not saying anything that didn’t need to be said out loud. The moonlight reached for something in the darkness, crossing from Matt’s to Harper’s bed. Eventually, Matt’s eyes became too tired; each time they closed it took a little more effort to open them back up. Matt slept, and dreamt of something he later wouldn’t remember, and in that dream it almost seemed like everything would be alright.

Camp Warhorse wasn’t anything like Baghdad, not that Matt had harboured any great expectations in the first place. They still had Pepsi but no running water. Instead of the swimming pool, they had the roof. There was a lot less leeway and a lot more snipers to look out for, and Harper—most of the time he looked so tense, Matt actually preferred to stay out of his way. He didn’t really dare to sneak out either, at least not yet—most of the nights he couldn’t sleep he stayed up staring at the ceiling, thinking of things that hadn’t happened yet.

Anthony’s plan to hire local labour had gone as well as Matt expected, and so it didn’t take long before it fell to the five of them and Mahmoud to do the job instead. They rolled up their sleeves and dug up shattered pipes in the time that it took to fill up the tanker; when on the road, they tried not to think how fucking easy of a target they all were. It never seemed like they were getting anywhere—each day, the pit looked just as littered with debris, and all the water they’d delivered on the previous day was already used up by the time they hit the distro points again.

They fell into a rhythm, heavy, trudging. Matt felt so tired when he climbed up into his bunk at the end of each long day he barely managed to kick off his boots. He wondered what exactly Harper thought would happen in Baqubah. Sometimes he simply fell asleep before he could even make it downstairs to brush his teeth.

It happened on a weekday, not that it really mattered out here. Matt wandered up onto the roof, found Harper sitting on the wall, the sat phone cradled in his hands. The amount of times they’d found themselves alone together since Baghdad was close to non-existent, not that Matt was counting or anything. At times he couldn’t help thinking if that might actually be a good thing, if maybe he should just be glad for what he had with Harper now, which was, admittedly, not a lot.

“Ocre,” Harper called over before Matt could decide if he should simply backtrack. He patted a spot on the wall next to him, and Matt walked over, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his fatigues. Today they’d managed to return to base slightly earlier than usual, and that little bit of extra downtime meant a lot out here. Harper seemed tired but not more so than they _all_ were; Matt sat beside him, willing his heartbeat to keep steady, not that that ever really worked.

For a little while they simply sat in silence. Harper had put the phone away, had leaned his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands in front of him. He spat onto the ground, while Matt looked straight ahead, trying to think of nothing in particular; the night was quiet, the air still warm and pleasant on his skin. Matt had just started to wonder if that was all that was going to happen when Harper sighed and straightened up.

“I didn’t forget,” he finally said, and Matt’s stomach did something funny, like an attempted ollie that didn’t properly take off. He trained his eyes on the ground, waiting for Harper to continue, wondering if there was an actual chance that he would faint and just, like, tip over the wall.

“I don’t make it a habit to—form this kind of...relationship with my subordinates.”

A blush crept up Matt’s cheeks. His mind latched onto the word _relationship_ and then immediately record-scratched into a halt. Was Harper saying—

“It wouldn’t do,” Harper went on, “to get distracted. Not out here.”

Matt couldn’t possibly have stared at the ground any harder. _Oh_ , he thought. _Okay. Cool. Thanks. I should have fucking backtracked while I could._

Harper turned to him then. “Matt,” he said softly, and when Matt looked up, trying and most certainly failing to look neutral, he saw that Harper was smiling. He was getting really confused here, no offense.

“Turns out I’m _already_ kind of distracted,” Harper said, his smile growing a little wider still. He held out his hand, his palm turned up, and Matt realised that he looked kind of nervous, was even biting a little at his lip. Sergeant Harper. _Nervous._ Because of _him._

Matt grinned and took it, saying, “I’m actually extremely focussed at all times,” and Harper clasped his fingers around his and laughed, and so did Matt.

**Author's Note:**

> If this were a multi-chapter fic, the next 27 chapters would just be them sitting on the roof, holding hands, and that’d! be! VALID!
> 
> Also, the _It wouldn’t do to get distracted_ / _Turns out I already am_ sounds really familiar but I don’t know if it’s from a show, a book, a fic etc Could be from one of my own old, unfinished fics too??? lol Anyway, I just wanted to acknowledge it here, pls don’t cancel me for ~plagiarism /_ \


End file.
